


Some Things Last

by Scarlett_Leigh



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Older Woman/Younger Man, POV Multiple, Romance, Very Secret Diary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Leigh/pseuds/Scarlett_Leigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwyn Bennett was cursed. She had not a wrinkle on her face, a gray hair on her head, or a bag under her eye. Her skin felt as smooth and supple as it had thirty years ago— a curse in disguise. Yet even as Gwyn's curse took away everything she loved her mother, Sophie Bennett, remained silent.</p><p>On her deathbed at age eighty-two, Sophie presents her daughter with an old diary that may shed light on the answers Gwyn so desperately seeks. The stories inside will take Gwyn on a journey through her mother's childhood, unlock the secrets to Sophie's well-guarded past, and raise new questions about a mysterious guy named "Jack Frost."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

March 20th, 2093

Tucson, Arizona. A fierce blizzard battered the stucco walls and rattled the clay shingles of Pleasant Plains nursing home. The storm coated the arid, brown streets with such a thick blanket of white, Gwyn Bennett could hardly tell the difference between the world outside and the one within: white walls, white-tile floors, white linens.

Gwyn stood in a square room— small and cramped. Her mother's bed, and the tangle of tubes coiled around its frame, consumed most of the space. It was a quite ward. Only the steady _beep, beep_ of the cardiac monitor punctuated the silence. Outside, however, a symphony of howling winds swirled across the plains, bringing with it a storm the likes of which Tucson had never seen before.

A lacy layer of frost spread its tendrils across the window pane, shielding Gwynn's view. She tried to rub it clean with her sleeve, but it only made her clothes wet. "Stupid snow..." she muttered beneath her breath. "Quit following me."

Gwyn eyed the frost-covered window irritably, but a moan from the bed drew her attention back to the reason why she'd flown to Tucson in the first place.

"What are you looking at, Gwyn?" Her mother asked in a strained, hoarse voice.

"Just the snow." Gwyn replied tentatively and took a step closer to the edge of the bed. "Can I do anything for you, Mom? Is there something we can talk about?"

The old woman fell silent and turned her head away. A familiar deflating feeling, like air leaking out of a popped balloon, settled in Gwyn's stomach.

"Thought so...," sullenness clung to her sigh. It had been almost ten years sense she'd set foot in the United States— ten years sense she'd last seen her mother— yet the tension from their last fight still hung in the air like a storm-cloud, filling the room with an icy chill.

"Nick was supposed to be here..." Gwyn muttered, folding her arms across her chest. "He promised me he'd be here when I arrived." Nick, her youngest brother, lived in Tucson with his wife and three lovely children. Gwyn exchanged letters with them, and her brother Jackson, often— but that was all— no Christmas gatherings, no Easter Sundays, no family reunions.

Gwyn cast a defeated glance at her reflection in the frost-coated window— the reflection that so many coveted, yet she'd grown to despise. She had thick, brunette hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes. She'd been called beautiful by many, but the only thing Gwyn Bennett saw herself as...was cursed.

She was born fifty years ago, on the first day of Winter, 2042. _Fifty years ago..._ Gwyn thought miserably and studied her reflection. She had not a wrinkle on her face, a gray hair on her head, or a bag under her eye. Her skin felt as smooth and supple as it had ten, twenty, no, thirty years ago. All told, Gwyn didn't look a day older than twenty-five— a curse in disguise.

Bitterness tightened in her throat as she eyed her mother's frail body snuggled beneath the linens. Sophie Bennett had been beautiful in her day too, with golden hair and bright-green eyes, but she aged like normal people. Her flaxen hair dulled and grayed. Her skin thinned, eye-sight dissipated, and ever-so quickly, she'd been forced into a nursing home to die...

And once Sophie Bennett died, all her secrets died with her.

Once Sophie Bennett died, Gwyn would be alone to bear the burden of a curse she knew nothing about— a curse that had taken away everything she loved, including her husband and her figure skating career, and forced her into a nomadic lifestyle.

"Gwyn?" Her mom wheezed. "Gwyneira?"

"Yes, Mom," she replied with haste. "I'm here."

Her mother's breathing was short and unsteady. Her eyelids flickered as she struggled to sit up.

"Stay still, Mom." Gwyn reached over and placed a hand on Sophie's shoulder. Her mother shivered at the touch. "I'll call for a nurse."

Her mother obeyed. She settled back down, and began to mutter something in a horse tone. "It was a British colony, settled by fur traders moving west toward the Great Lakes. The year was 1712."

"Mom?" Gwyn fixed her mother with a quizzical look.

"An early blizzard struck the valley," Sophie continued, "a death sentence for the settlers, but they'd traveled so far inland, they couldn't turn back. The colonists hulled up in their cabins to wait out the storm."

 _Her mind is going too..._ Gwyn thought. She gently reached to touch her mom's hand. "I can call for the nurse. She said you can have as much medicine as you want."

The old woman nodded and pressed on with her story. "Among the settlers was a boy of eighteen— a young man in those days— but he was a restless spirit. Though the storm kept him locked inside the cabin he shared with his parents and little sister, he still managed to find ways to have fun. He taught his sister to play hopscotch and games with rocks and sticks. When the winds let up, he gathered the village children together in the barn and told them stories about an Indian princess and the old deer who was King of the Forest..."

The nurse entered— a young, Hispanic woman named Marcia. "There, there Ms. Sophie," she cooed as she fiddled with the monitors and pipes in the corner. "No need for anyone to suffer."

"It was weeks before the storm passed," her mother continued as if in a trance, "but when it did, the boy left the village first. He promised to take his sister ice skating. There was a pond not far from the village, but a thin layer of snow masked how brittle the ice was toward the center. The sister skated too close, and the ice began to crack beneath the little girl's feet.

"'I'm scared,' she said, but the boy told her not to be afraid. 'You have to believe in me.' He fought to mask his own fear and hopped across the pond to where he'd set his staff. 'Your turn,' he told her. It was just like hopscotch— but in a moment of panic, the ice started to give way, and the boy lunged forward with the crook of his staff. He wretched his sister away from the breaking ice— but when he regained his balance, the boy fell through instead.

"The next morning, and for many mornings afterward, the villagers searched the pond for a body— but they never found one."

Gwyn didn't know how to respond. _Where did that come from,_ she wondered? _Such a depressing story..._

The window rattled as a fresh gust blew against the pane. Snow fell in all directions. Gwyn closed her eyes and listened to the noise. It sounded painful— almost like a cry.

"Gwyneira," her mom winced and shifted beneath the sheets. She waved a weak arm toward a black bag hanging on a coat-rack in the corner.

"Your bag?" Gwyn reached for the black-leather tote.

The old woman nodded. "There's a book inside. A book I want you to read."

Gwyn's fingers wrapped around the spine of a leather-bound diary, hundreds of pages thick. Gooey spots dotted its surface where star-shaped stickers had been rubbed away; a large coffee splotch tinted the bottom right corner a darker shade of brown.

"You never told me you kept a diary," Gwyn whispered. She drew a plastic green chair up alongside her mom's bed and reverently opened the diary in her lap.

"Could you read it?" her mom croaked in a voice Gwyn hardly recognized.

"Do you want me to read aloud?" she replied. Her curiosity peaked.

The old woman nodded with a heavy sigh.

Gwyn swallowed hard and began in a voice that shook with nervous anticipation. "The inside cover reads, 'this diary belongs to Sophie Bennett. No boys aloud. Except Jamie and Jack Frost.'" Gwyn laughed at her mom's childish mannerism. "Haha, but the word 'Jamie' has been crossed out. There's a picture too..."

An odd picture, Gwyn thought as she observed the smiling faces of two children, a brunette boy with wide brown eyes, and a small, blonde girl of five or six. "You and Uncle Jamie?" Gwyn guessed. The two children posed with their arms wrapped around the air— little Sophie at waist level and Jamie at shoulder-height— like a third person stood between them.

"Is there supposed to be someone in the middle?" Gwyn leaned the book over her mom's bed and pointed at the photograph pasted inside. To her horror, her mom let out a painful sob and turned away. Tears streaked down Sophie's pale, wrinkled face as Gwyn pulled back.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" her mom insisted in a tone just below a bark. "Please." She pointed to the dairy.

"Okay," Gwyn rolled her eyes and flipped a thin, yellow page to the first entry scribbled in sparkling purple crayon. "Here it goes." She licked her lips and sighed, "the first entry is from..."

_Christmas Day, 2016_

_This is my diary. Jamie gave it to me because I like to draw and write. It's a good present, but not as good as the bike without training wheels Mommy and Daddy gave me. It's a pink bike with purple handles. It has a basket on the front too. I wanted to ride it outside, but Mommy said it was too icy. That's Jack's fault._

_Jamie and I went to play outside with Jack, and I got mad at him for making it icy. I think he felt bad, so I said sorry, and we went sledding on the hill in Burgess Park, which was way more fun than riding bikes anyway. Jack always knows how to have the most fun._

_I like spring, and summer when we go to the beach, but I like winter the most because that's when Jack comes. I miss Jack a lot when he's gone, because he's probably my second-best friend. He can't be my first-best friend because he was Jamie's best friend first. Besides, Caroline would be sad if I told her she wasn't my first-best friend._

_Caroline likes Jack too. All the kids in the neighborhood do. I think they get jealous sometimes because Jack spends so much time with Jamie and me, but that's because Jamie believed in Jack first._

_I was only three when the guardians came to Burgess, so I don't remember much, but Jamie tells me about it all the time, and Jack too if I ask him. I hope someday I can have an adventure with Jack like Jamie did. They saved the world together with Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and the Sandman. I love them all, and they're my friends too._

_I will never stop believing in the guardians. I crossed my heart and pinky swore to Jack that I would never stop, because if you stop believing, you can't see him anymore._

_I would be very sad if I couldn't see Jack anymore. I love him as much as Jamie and Mommy and Daddy and Abby. Merry Christmas._

_XOXO,_

_Sophie Elizabeth Bennett_

Six-year-old Sophie decorated the page beside the entry with a drawing of children sledding down a hill. Two girls, a blonde and a ginger, shared one sled. They raced passed a brunette boy— _a young Uncle Jamie,_ Gwyn guessed— and a curious looking pale boy with hair so white her mom had outlined it in gray to distinguish it from the snowy backdrop.

"Is this the 'Jack' you mentioned?" Gwyn pointed to the picture and leaned over to show her mother. "This boy on the sled?"

Her mom nodded and fidgeted. Gwyn thought she saw the glint of a tear welling in Sophie's eye.

"So... you had an imaginary friend named Jack Frost?" Gwyn joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Did he ever nip at your nose?"

Sophie didn't laugh. "I was so mean," she muttered absentmindedly. "So cold to him."

"How could you be cold to Jack Frost? He's Jack _Frost_."

But again, her mom was not amused. "So cold." Sophie twisted back and forth in a sweat, "cold..."

Gwyn grew worried. "Do you want me to call for a nurse?"

"No," her mom grunted. "Please keep... keep..."

"Keep reading?" Impatience started to wear away at Gwyn's collected demeanor. She came to Tucson for answers, not to read stories, and time was running out. Even on her deathbed, her mom was stalling.

"Is this really what you want me to do, Mom?" Gwyn asked sternly. "You owe me, and you know it. You knew it when I left ten years ago. I hoped some time would make you realize..." Gwyn choked back tears of frustration, and her throat tightened. "I've lost so much. Don't I deserve to know why?"

"Read," her mom croaked. She blindly reached back for where Gwyn had set the diary on the bedside table.

Gwyn snapped. She ripped the old diary from her mom's grasp, and a picture fell out onto the floor. Gwyn cast it a glance, but it was just a faded photo of her mom ice skating alone on a frozen pond. "The next entry is from..."

_February 1, 2017_

_Dear Diary,_

_I got in big trouble today. At school we learned about Groundhog's Day, and it made me think of the guardians. My teacher, Ms. Eve, told us there's a groundhog in Pennsylvania named Punxsutawney Phil, and if he sees his shadow tomorrow there will be six more weeks of winter. I like that idea, because it means Jack will be here longer._

_So I thought if Pennsylvania has a groundhog, maybe Burgess has one too. Then I thought, if I were a groundhog in Burgess, I would live in the woods because there's lots of caves there to make a home in._

_That's why Caroline and me went to look for a groundhog in the woods after school. We looked for hours in all the caves and hollow trees we could find. We called out, "Groundhog! Groundhog! Come out!" but he never did._

_Finally, it started to get dark, so Caroline and me walked back home. We got a little lost though, and on the way, we came across another cave. This one was pretty big. Probably big enough for Caroline's mastiff, and if it was big enough for Caroline's mastiff, then it was diffidently big enough for a groundhog. So me and Caroline crawled in._

_But when we did, Caroline thought she saw a big spider and screamed. When she screamed, I jumped up and started stamping my feet to squish the spider. Only, I shook the walls of the cave too much, and a huge snowdrift fell down on the opening. We were trapped!_

_It was pitch black and I was so scared. We tried to dig away the snow, but more fell in its place and started to fill up the cave. Caroline started to cry, but I tried to stay brave. It was hard, and it only got harder as it got colder and colder. The longer we were in the cave, the harder it got to breathe. I thought I was going to die!_

_Finally, after forever! I heard a barking sound. A familiar barking sound that belongs to my dog, Abby._

_"Abby!" I screamed "Abby. Dig us out!" She kept barking, and I hoped she brought someone to rescue us._

_Then I heard Jack's voice, and I knew we were saved!_

_"Sophie, Is that you?" he asked. He sounded scared._

_"Yes," I said. "It's me and Caroline."_

_"Hold on!" he said, "I'm going to get you out of there. Close your eyes!" Jack told us, and we did. Then, in a puff of blue dust, he made the snowdrift disappear. Caroline and I crawled out of the cave safely. The air smelled so crisp and fresh. When I saw Jack, he had a big smile on his face, but he looked a little sad too. I gave him a hug so big, it knocked him over!_

_"Why are you sad, Jack?" I asked him when I hugged him. "You saved me." He said he was not sad, but he was scared. Then I asked him why he was scared, because he's Jack Frost and he can't be scared. He laughed when I said that, but I didn't think it was funny._

_Then me, Jack, Caroline, and Abby walked back to Burgess safely. I held his hand and he squeezed my fingers through my mittens as we skipped. His fingers are tingly cold. Everyone knows Jack likes snowball fights and ice-skating, but Jamie and me know that he likes holding hands and hugs just as much..._

_I probably would too if I went three-hundred years without touching someone. That's a very, very, very long time._

_XOXO_

_Sophie Elisabeth Bennett_

Gwyn flipped down the corner of the yellowing page and closed the diary. "Is any of this true?" She frowned. "I thought this Jack Frost was supposed to be imaginary?"

"The last thing the boy saw," her mom mumbled, "as the icy water washed over him— was the moon."

"Of course," Gwyn reasoned, "you were six when you wrote this. You must have had some wild imagination, huh Mom?"

Her mother remained silent. Instead of answering Gwyn's questions, her mom was filling her head with more.

"What about these guardians?" Gwyn pressed. She sat the diary down in her lap and ran her fingers through her hair. "You mentioned them a few times and Uncle Jaimie too. Maybe 'Jack Frost' was some sort of game you two used to play, and the guardians were like a club?"

"Gwyneira." Sophie wheezed. She visibly struggled to utter each word. "The answers you seek are there. If you keep reading, but please, I need to hear the story one more time."

Suddenly, the diary felt like a lead weight in Gwyn's lap. _The answers have been in this old thing all this time?_ She could only guess what sort of game her mother was playing at.

Gwyn opened the book again, and as she thumbed through the pages, realized the diary was much more than some child's scribblings about her imaginary friend. In fact, her mother's elegant artisan's script covered most of the pages, along with illustrations in water color, oil pastel, charcoal, and graphite. From what Gwyn could tell, her mom had been updating the journal for a long time... but why?

If she could believe her mother, Gwyn held that answer, along with so many more, in her hands. She just had to read.

"Okay," Gwyn sighed. "I'll keep reading, but you'd better hold on until I'm done."

Her mother nodded and closed her tired eyes. Gwyn sunk deeper into the plastic chair, propped her feet up on the base board of the bed, and unfolded the diary across her lap.

"The next entry is from..."


	2. Chapter 2

_November 18, 2018_

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't like growing up. Inside I feel like the same Sophie. I don't look much different, only a little taller, and I still like mostly the same things. Just my favorite color used to be pink and now its green like my eyes. On the outside, though, I know things are changing. It will only get worse, and I want it to stop..._

_Jack came back a few weeks ago, but only for a visit. He had something to do in France, and apologized because we only got in one quick snowball fight before he left again. Jack considers Burgess his home, because this is where his pond is, and he lived here when he was human. Still, he goes away every summer to bring winter fun to the kids in the southern half of the world. Even though I get why he leaves, I still miss him a lot, and this past summer was the longest I can ever remember him being away._

_That's why I paid a little more attention to the news at breakfast yesterday than I normally do. When the weatherman with the thick mustache said there would be an eighty-percent chance of snow at lunchtime, I almost choked on my cereal I was so happy! I hoped maybe I would see Jack when Jamie and I walked to school in the morning, but I didn't._

_I go to Burgess Elementary school. I am in the second grade. Jamie is in the eighth-grade and goes to Burgess Middle School, which is right next door. I will go there in three more years. I like some things we do at school, like art and writing, but I don't like math. My teacher, Mrs. Moore, gives us timed addition and subtraction tests, and we race to finish the problems. I get most of the answers right, but I'm not fast enough to win. I like art and writing because they're more creative, and there's no prize for finishing first, only for finishing the best._

_That's why I really thought it was my day when I found out we had a writing assignment for 'morning work.' The topic was 'write about your favorite snow-day memory.' I laughed when I read it, because I have so many to chose from._

_I decided to write about last Christmas Eve when Jack built a giant snow-fort in the woods. It had a moat and a wall around it like a castle. Four ice-towers sprouted up from the corners. Caroline, my friend Noah, me, Jamie, and Pippa played the greatest game of capture-the-flag in the history of the world— all of us versus Jack, and he wasn't allowed to use his staff. It was a great memory and I wrote a pretty good story about it. Mrs. Moore thought so, at least, because she picked me to read it aloud to the class._

_"Suddenly, snowballs rained down from the sky like hail in all four directions." I told the story with great-big hand gestures like Jamie always does. "Jack didn't know where to fire back. In a moment of confusion, he turned away from the flag perched on a stake in the center of the fort, and I knew it was my chance!_

_I darted from the tower as fast as I could, but Jack saw me, so I dove forward and slid on my belly like a penguin. As I slid closer and closer to the flag, Jack reached to tag me out and then... by less than a millimeter, I snagged the flag before Jack got me!"_

_Some kids cheered, so I knew I told the story well. Caroline and Noah looked especially happy— probably because it was a good memory for them too._

_"An excellent job, Sophie," Mrs. Moore said and gave me a sticker to put on the paper. It made me feel proud._

_Then Emily Franklin spoke up. "It's not a snow-day memory though," she said with her pointy-nose stuck up in the air. "It's made up."_

_"It is not!" I stuck my tongue out at her._

_"It is too!" she fired back. "Jack Frost isn't real. My sister told me so."_

_I felt like I'd been hit in the head with a snowball the size of New York. It was the first time someone in my grade told me Jack Frost wasn't real. It happened with Jamie's friends sometimes, but he said it was normal with kids his age. Jamie and I will always believe in the guardians, but I kind of hoped everyone else would too. It makes Jack sad when kids don't see him._

_"You're just jealous because you can't see him!" I was so mad I accidentally crinkled my story up in my hands. Emily sat cross-legged on the carpet with a stupid butt-faced grin._

_"How can I be jealous of something that isn't real?"_

_Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!_ The sound of Gwyn's phone ringing cut her off. It took her a moment to register the noise, and a flush crept onto her cheeks as she realized how immersed in the diary she'd become.

"It's Jackie." She checked her phone's caller ID. "Sorry, Mom, I need to take this."

Gwyn was eight when Jackie was born. Her mom married his father, Robert Forrester, the next year, and nine months later they had her youngest brother Nick. Gwyn recalled that as an exciting time in her life, because it was the first time she could remember feeling like part of a real family. Gwyn sat the diary down on the green chair behind her. A chilly gust greeted her as she walked into the hallway and eased the door to her mother's room shut. For a moment, she stared blankly at the name flashing across her phone's screen, and a smile tugged at the corner's of her lips. Gwyn took a deep breath before answering.

"Hello, Jackie?" She said tentatively, biting her lip as she waited for a reply.

"Hey, Gwyn." He sounded tired. "How are you?"

"I'm okay." She shrugged. "Are you on your way? Is Uncle Jamie with you?"

"That's why I called, Gwyn. Uncle Jamie's with me now, but our layover in Denver's been delayed until the storm passes. I'm gonna try to rent a car and drive the rest of the way, but from what it sounds like, the going may be pretty slow."

"Jackie," Gwyn groaned. "What about Uncle Jamie?"

"He's going to wait and take the flight."

"Oh." Gwyn nodded. "Okay."

Jackie picked up on the hint of disappointment in her voice. "Something wrong, Gwyn?" he asked.

"No..." she exhaled. Even over the phone, her brother's voice sounded far away. "It's just a little lonely here is all."

"What about Nick? Isn't he supposed to be there?"

"Something held him up at home," Gwyn sighed. "Now I can't get through to him. It's probably this stupid storm."

"Well," he reasoned, "you and Mom could use some alone time together. She's missed you these last ten years." Jackie was always the most sensible of the three siblings.

"I know," Gwyn grumbled. "I just... I really want to see you."

"You will, Sis. I'll be there as soon as I can."

A sweet sadness in his voice made Gwyn smile.

"Tay and Logan really liked the post card you sent from Nepal," he continued, "and I brought pictures of them along to show you when I get there. They're getting so big!"

"That's wonderful..." Gwyn forced a tone of sincere joy, but a hint of jealousy still crept in. Her brother's both had families of their own. They seemed happy and healthy. All she wanted was to share in their happiness— but Jackie and Nick were normal and she was not. Her mom was always quick to remind Gwyn of that.

"Alright," Jackie chimed. "They've got a car for me, so I'm gonna run. Tell mom to hang in there."

"I will." Gwyn nodded. "Love you Jackie. Kiss Uncle Jaimie for me."

She waited for him to hang up first.

Outside, the wind swirled as fiercely as ever. It reminded her of the weather on the day Jackie was born. Uncle Jamie played with her in the lobby when her mom went in for the c-section. Gwyn wore a little pink sweatshirt that said, "I'm a big sister," in sparkly blue letters. She told everyone around them— an old lady in a wheelchair, the receptionist at the front desk, the clerk in the hospital gift store— that she was going to have a little brother. She promised Uncle Jamie that she would protect him just like he protected her mom as kids.

Thinking of her Uncle Jamie reminded Gwyn of the diary she had yet to finish. It felt weird being inside her mom's child-like mind. Gwyn knew from growing up with her mother, a professional artist and published poet, that she had a creative imagination. Still, Gwyn found the conviction with which little Sophie wrote her stories impressive.

Which brought her to this "Jack Frost" character. His presence in the stories confused her as much as he intrigued her. Little Sophie painted him as too life-like to be imaginary, yet too mythical to be real. _He could be a ghost,_ Gwyn considered, _or some kind of mass illusion._ Her mother wrote that Jack had been human once— _whatever that means._ No matter whether he was real, imaginary, alive, or dead, he'd been a presence in every story so far. Not only did little Sophie believe in him, but her friends and Uncle Jamie did too. Gwyn supposed she would just have to keep reading to find out more...

Back in her mom's room, Gwyn picked up the diary and flipped again to the picture inside the front cover. Lightly, she traced her fingers over the surface of the fading photograph and studied it closer. Sophie and Jamie stood just far enough apart for a third person to fit snuggly between them. However, Gwyn couldn't even detect a footprint in the freshly fallen snow to indicate someone had been there. Clearly, Gwyn decided, no human presence filled the void between the two Bennett siblings.

"Gwyneira?" Sophie croaked as her daughter sat back down. "How's Jack—"

"Jackie's layover in Denver's been delayed." She finished her mom's thought. "He's gonna drive, but it'll probably take a while."

"Nick?" Sophie said with a strained cough.

"I think Nick's at home waiting for the storm to pass. His phone's dead though, so they may be without power."

The old woman nodded. Her eyelids fluttered as they closed, and she sunk into her pillow with a sigh. "Keep reading, darling."

Gwyn blinked and fixed her mother with a quizzical look. Questions formed on the tip of her tongue, but for the first time since she was sixteen, she bit them back. Gwyn couldn't shake the feeling she was meant to be reading the diary— the book Sophie promised would answer all of her questions. Softly Gwyn replied, "yes, mom," and flipped to the page she left off on. "I left after Emily Franklin told you Jack Frost wasn't real..."

_Just like the weatherman promised, it started to snow at lunch. The school gave us a half-day, because they were afraid the storm would only get worse. Caroline and I talked excitedly about Jack Frost as we walked over to the middle school to wait for Jamie._

_"Sophie Bennett!"_

_I heard someone behind me sneer. It was Emily Franklin again._

_"What are you doing here Emily?" I fixed her with an irritated look, still flustered over our fight. "Shouldn't you be inside where the snow can't mess up your hair?"_

_"I'm waiting for my sister." She flipped a blonde pigtail over her shoulder. "She actually belongs at the middle school."_

_I paused and glared at her."What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Well," she rolled her eyes. "It's only that my sister tells me your brother still believes in Jack Frost too. That's like sooo kindergarten!"_

_I stamped my foot in the freshly piled snow and screamed,"shut up!"_

_"Bet he still believes in Santa Clause," she laughed, "and the Easter Bunny."_

Of course he does, _I wanted to yell,_ because they are real, _but she would never understand."My brother is worth a thousand of your sisters," I spat. "He's a hero!"_

_"Psh..." she waved her finger at me. "He's crazy!"_

_"He is not!"_

_"He is too," she shot back, "and so are you!"_

_Just then, a snowball whizzed passed my ear and hit Emily smack on the forehead. She paused for a second and blinked, trying to process what happened. Then, her frown twisted up like a pretzel, her cheeks turned red, and tears welled up in her brown eyes. "Sophie Bennett!" She screamed. "What did you just do?"_

_"It wasn't me," I shrugged._

_Another snowball hurled through the air from behind a tree. It hit Emily in the arm, and she stumbled to the side."What sort of game are you playing at, Sophie?"_

_"It's not me!" I shouted back and looked around. Then I saw him— perched on a tree branch over Emily's head. He packaged up a third snowball and gave me a mischievous look that asked, 'should I?'_

_I laughed. "Jack Frost!"_

_"What?" Emily said with a scowl._

_"It's Jack Frost!" I pointed up to the tree, knowing very well that Emily could not see him._

_"You're crazy Soph—" She looked up and began to say, but Jack dropped the snowball on her face. It landed with a splat, and Emily burst into tears._

_"I'm telling my sister, Sophie Bennett!" She screamed and tore off into the school._

_Jack floated down from the tree branch. He landed so lightly on his bare feet, he didn't leave a footprint in the fresh snow. Caroline and I ran up to him, and I pulled him into a big hug. "Jack, I missed you!"_

_"I missed you too, Sophie." He patted me on the back._

_Kids started sifting out of the middle school. I stood on the tips of my boots and peered for Jamie through the crowd. Jack took a step off to the side so no one accidentally walked through him (I think it hurts him when people do that). When I spotted Jamie walking down the steps with his friends Caleb and Claude, I started jumping up and down and waving to catch his attention._

_"Hurry up dude!"_

_I heard Caleb yell after Jaimie. He left them on the steps and ran over to where Caroline, Jack, and I stood under the tree._

_"Hey Soph," he laughed and mussed my hair, "Caroline, Jack." Jamie smiled, but because his friends were watching, he didn't move to embrace the winter spirit like I had. "We missed you."_

_"Same." Jack leaned casually against his staff. "Sorry I had to leave so soon after I got back. There was a huge blizzard in France that prompted my special attention." He wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke._

_"Don't worry about it," Jamie replied with a laugh._

_It was then I noticed how much my brother had grown in the past year. Where before he'd been chest-level with Jack, he now stood even with the winter spirit's eyes. I never really thought of Jack as tall before, because Jamie was between us. But now that they both towered over me, I felt small._

_"Come on, Jamie. Let's go!" Claude waved from the school steps._

_"Coming guys!" Jamie called back. "Listen, Jack, do you mind walking Caroline and Sophie home? Caleb got a new video game and I—"_

_"But Jamie," I cut him off with a whine. "It's a snow day! Can't you play your stupid video game some other time?"_

_"I'm sorry, Soph." He put his hand on my shoulder and bent down to look me in the eye. "I know you were excited about the snow, but you don't need me to have fun."_

_"Yes I do!" I sniffed, stifling a cry. "It won't be the same without you."_

_"Sophie..." he said slowly, thinking carefully about his words. "Just try to think of it as a new adventure." He flashed me an encouraging smile, "the adventure of Sophie and Caroline. Besides," he looked up to the winter spirit, "Jack comes up with all the good ideas anyway."_

_I looked from Jack, flashing me a dorky all-knowing grin, back to Jamie, and wiped my nose on my jacket sleeve. "Fine," I sighed, but since tomorrow's Saturday, you have to promise to go sledding with me."_

_Jamie nodded as he stood. "I'll go sledding_ and _skating."_

_"Pinky swear?" I held out my little finger._

_"Pinky swear." He shook my pinky with his, pulled me into a bear-hug, and turned to run back to the school steps. "Thanks Jack." Jamie winked. "See you later Sophie! Bye Caroline!"_

_It was more than I could take in one day. First putting up with Emily Franklin and her butt-faced, know-it-all accusations, then my brother ditching me on a snow day to play video games! I grunted in frustration, spun around like a wound-up top, and marched away. With each step, I squished the snow, pretending I was stamping on Emily's head with my right foot and Jamie's with my left. I was so mad, I didn't even notice Jack running out in front of me, waving his arms._

_"Sophie," he called, "hey Soph wait—"_

_But my eyes were so furiously glued to the snow in front of me, I didn't notice him. In fact, I ran right over him! We tumbled forward into a drift. My hat flew off and chilly little flakes slipped down my scarf._

_"I-I'm so sorry, Jack!" My cheeks flushed red as I realized what I'd done. I rolled off him and started brushing the snow from his hoodie. "Are you okay? I didn't mean—"_

_To my surprise, however, Jack started laughing— hysterically laughing. "Haha... don't apologize, Sophie." He grabbed a handful of snow and rumpled it in my already wet and tangled up hair. "I waited over three hundred years for a kid to knock me over like that!"_

_I tried to hold a pouty face, but couldn't help it. A smile burst through, and before I knew it, I was laughing too!_

_"What's all the fuss about?" Caroline ran over, a confused look on her face._

_"Nothing," Jack replied with a roguish grin. "I was just promising Sophie here one heck of a snow day to remember..."_

_And boy did he deliver on that promise. Caroline and I had such a great day of fun, I forgot all about Jamie ditching me. It took us hours to walk home because we stopped to knock icicles off frozen drainpipes, skip snow chunks across the half-frozen river, sled with Noah down his driveway, and help a kindergardener build a snowman. By the time we turned down my street, the storm had picked up, and it was getting dark. A warm, yellow light glowed from the window of Jamie's bedroom, and I saw Jack eye it sadly._

_"Most of Jamie's friends don't believe in the guardians any more," I told him. Even though we had such a good time, I knew Jack had been thinking of my brother. "He still does though. It puts him in a tough situation, I think..."_

_"I understand," Jack sighed and clutched his staff. "Everyone stops believing eventually."_

_"Not Jamie and me!" I gasped. "We'll never stop believing, and my children, and my children's children, and their children forever and ever. They will always believe in Jack Frost!"_

_"Haha..." Jack grinned and mussed my hair like Jamie always does. "Thanks Sophie."_

_Mom saw me from the front window and yelled at me to come inside. Before I did though, I turned to Jack and asked, "does it make you sad when kids stop believing in you?"_

_"Sad?" He twirled his staff like a baton as he thought. "Not really. Even though they won't remember me exactly, they will remember all the fun times. That's pretty cool too, I guess."_

_I thought it was a good answer._

_Later that night, Jack visited Jamie's room. I could hear their voices through the wall, but couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Whatever it was, it must have been a good conversation, because they talked forever, and the next day, we all went ice skating like Jamie promised and had a terrific time._

_I don't like growing up, because there's more to worry about the older you get. Why can't people believe what they want, and do what they want, without bullies like Emily Franklin making fun of them? Maybe I'll never know... but no matter what, I'll never allow the words of bullies to affect my belief in the guardians! Cross my heart._

_Love,_

_Sophie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes about my AU for this story: I decided Burgess is in upstate New York, and I haven't found out anything canonically which contradicts me; also, during the events of RotG Sophie was three and Jamie was eight (again, that's just my head-cannon).
> 
> Finally, I know Sophie's "writing" is far more advanced than a normal nine-year-old's, and I'm going to go back and rough up the grammar some in the last chapter, but I made the executive decision to spell everything correctly and add dialogue tags for the sake of flow. I'm not Mark Twain and this isn't Huckleberry Finn. In other words, a clearly communicated story is more important to me than the language itself. That being said, I do want the diary entries to "sound" like a nine-year-old, so I tried to avoid using words a child wouldn't understand. If you come in your reading to a place that just doesn't sound right for whose speaking, please do not hesitate to point it out.
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> Scarlett


	3. Chapter 3

Gwyn flipped to the next page and gasped at what she saw. Across the diary's fold, little Sophie had drawn a portrait of her family gathered around a table to sing 'Happy Birthday.' Sophie was in the center with a round, pink cake in front of her. The light from nine, glistening candles reflected off her round cheeks. Her parents flanked her left side, smiling. Uncle Jaimie stood to her right, and the same white-haired boy from the sledding picture leaned over him. Gwyn pegged him for a teenager, no older than eighteen.

Though her mother's artistic ability, and the presence of the mysterious boy intrigued her, what surprised Gwyn most about the drawing were the _colors._ Gwyn gently traced her fingers across the page, feeling the texture of the crayon or pastel, or whatever it was, little Sophie used to render the composition. The vibrant hues of pink, green, blue, and yellow seemed to sparkle. Moreover, they showed not a hint of deterioration despite the fact the picture must have been over seventy years old.

"What did you use to draw this, Mom?" Gwyn turned the book around to face the old woman.

A sly smiled stretched across Sophie's thin lips. "Just crayons."

"Crayons?" Gwyn scoffed. Her gaze dropped again onto the white-haired boy. He leaned casually against a crooked staff with one hand tucked into the front pocket of a blue hoodie. Gwyn concentrated on the sweet, half-smile he wore on his face and realized she'd seen it before...

Gwyn remembered how much she loved her mom's studio in their old Burgess home. It was smaller than the one in their Lake Placid house, but it had two westward facing windows that caught the light bouncing off the lake at sunset. One day, just before Gwyn's eighth birthday, she came home from school and needed some crayons to finish a project. Her mom, pregnant with Jackie, had been sleeping frequently and forgot to lock the studio door. Gwyn was going to be quick, she remembered, just going to sneak in, borrow some of her mom's pastels, and leave right away... until she noticed the door to the "strictly-off-limits" closet stood wide open.

Excitement and curiosity ensnared her, and little Gwyn seized the opportunity to peak inside. Shelves stacked from the floor to the ceiling lined the walls. They housed hundreds upon hundreds of drawings and sketches her mom had archived. Gwyn could have spent hours sifting through the treasure trove, but a pile of a dozen primed canvases stacked against the back wall caught her attention.

They ranged in size from barely a foot in height and width to the sizes of windows— some square and some more rectangular. She figured they must have been part of a series, because the same white-haired, blue-eyed boy appeared in all of them. In a larger one, he glided across a frozen pond, leaving a trail of frost behind him. In a smaller portrait, he crouched on a windowsill with his hoodie pulled up over his head. He lightly touched the glass pane, and a flower of frost seemed to bloom from his fingertips.

The paintings so enchanted her, little Gwyn didn't hear her mom storm up behind her.

"Gwyneira Emmaline Bennett!" Her mother yelled. "You know my studio is off limits!"

"I-I'm sorry, Mom." Gwyn burst into tears. "I just needed to borrow some of your pastels and—"

"Pastels?" Sophie fixed Gwyn with a cross look and folded her arms across her chest. "You know they're in the cabinet on the wall. What were you doing sneaking around the closet?"

"T-the door was open and I-I just..." Gwyn tried to explain between sobs and sniffles. "I didn't mean to, Mommy. I-I just like looking at your paintings."

A moment passed. Shame and fright gnawed at Gwyn's insides. Finally, her mom's shoulders slumped, and she sighed. "I'm not hiding anything in here." She placed a hand on Gwyn's shoulder and ushered her from the closet. "I just... these paintings are very valuable. I can't take any chances they'll get messed up."

Gwyn thought it was a weird answer. Sophie stacked the paintings back up and locked the door. As they left the studio, she grabbed the pastels Gwyn wanted from her supply cabinet. Her mom didn't speak again until they were in the kitchen, and even then, it was to ask Gwyn about her day at school.

Gwyn felt so relieved her mom didn't ground her, she forgot about the paintings until later that night. Snuggled up in the bed beside her mom, Gwyn worked up the courage to ask Sophie about the white-haired boy. "Who was he Mom? The boy with the staff and the white hair?"

"Why does it matter, my little Snow White?" Sophie said with a sigh and turned to face the wall. "I painted them for a show. Now the show is over, and that's the end of it."

"But they're really pretty, Mommy," Gwyn pressed. "I thought maybe they could be for one of Uncle Jaimie's books?"

"I said that's the end of it, Gwyneira." Her mom flipped back around and fixed Gwyn with a terse look, "and if you ask about them again, I _will_ ground you."

That snuffed out what little flicker of courage Gwyn had left. She never mentioned the paintings again, and soon forgot about them. Now, however, Gwyn knew the boy in the paintings, with his crooked staff and white hair, was Jack Frost. Or at least, Jack Frost as her mother imagined him.

 _He looks so human,_ Gwyn mused. Her mother's rendition seemed odd in that manner. Gwyn always thought Jack Frost was supposed to be some kind of imp or elf-like creature. She cast one last glance at the glowing illustration before flipping to the next page. The entry, from November twentieth, 2019, accompanied the picture.

_Dear Diary,_

_I turned nine today, and it was a pretty good day._

_Jack made it a snow-day, just for me, so we could go sledding, snow ball fighting, snow-man-building, and all the other fun things we like to do. I was very tired when the day was done, but I woke up as soon as Mom told me she was making my favorite meal for dinner— pot roast and potatoes!_

_Jack stayed for dinner too, which was really funny, because Mom and Dad can't see him. He kept making weird faces and copying everything they said so Jamie and I would laugh. Of course, Mom and Dad didn't know why we were laughing, and that made it even more funny!_

_I kind of felt bad for Jack though. Our family table has six seats, and since there's only four people in my family, Jack sat in one of the open chairs with us. He couldn't have a plate, though, because that would have been suspicious. I think Jack can still taste food because he said it smelled really good, and if he can smell and hear and see and feel things, I'm guessing he can taste things too._

_I really want to ask him sometimes about the things he can and can't do, but I get too shy and don't want to hurt his feelings._

_After dinner, we opened gifts. Mom and Dad gave me an easel and some new paints to practice my art with. They tell me all the time that I'm getting really good. I also got some doll clothes for my American Girl, two new games for my Game Boy, and a pair of lime-green snow-boots with glitter in them— Jack said they look just like my eyes._

_The best present of all, though, was the one that Jamie— and Jack— gave me. It was a box of the most beautiful crayons I've ever seen, but they weren't just crayons— they were magic crayons made from pastels in the Warren where Bunnymud lives. Jack told me the colors would never fade._

_I was so excited to try them out, I drew a picture of my birthday party before I wrote this story. I think its probably the best picture I've ever drawn, and that's saying something because I'm definitely the best artist in the second-grade. I know that, because I win all the coloring contests at school._

_I showed the picture to Jack, and he told me it was beautiful. I think he likes it when I draw pictures with him in them, because whether you believe in him or not, the drawing will never fade. After he told me it was beautiful, I got the idea that maybe I'd draw him a picture for his birthday, but I realized I didn't know when that was._

_"I don't think I have birthdays anymore," he told me when I asked._

_I thought that was sad, so I said, "but that's not fair! Even rocks and trees have birthdays."_

_"But rocks and trees get older every year." He leaned against the windowsill and pulled his hoodie up over his head. "I don't. I just stay the same."_

_"Maybe on the outside," I said, "but you still get older on the inside. Besides, birthdays aren't just about getting older. They're about celebrating the day you were born. Do you know what day you were born, Jack?"_

_"Hmm..." He tapped the crooked-end of his staff against his forehead as he thought. "Depends on which time you're talking about?"_

_His answer confused me. "What do you mean 'which time?' You can only be born once."_

_"Humans are only born once," he clarified. "But I'm a guardian, Sophie. I was born once as Jack the human, but after I died, I was born again as Jack Frost. That was on the first day of winter."_

_"So December 21st?"_

_He nodded._

_Even though the idea of being born twice still confused me, an idea hatched in my head. "Well that's perfect then! On December 21st, we will celebrate your birthday. All the kids in the neighborhood will be invited!"_

_"You're silly, Sophie." He chuckled. "You don't have to do that."_

_"But I want to!" I jumped up and down on my bed. "It's what families do for each other."_

_He stood there, looking stunned for a moment. "You think I'm part of your family?"_

_"Duh!" I laughed and leapt off the bed. Jack caught me and fell backwards. We crashed onto the floor and wrestled around. I tried to pin him, but he was too strong. He locked my arms at my side and pulled me into a big bear-hug._

_"I think you and your brother are a bad influence on me," he said with a laugh._

_I squirmed to break free. "What do you mean?"_

_"I'm too involved with you guys." He loosened his grip and I wriggled away. "North always tells me guardians shouldn't be so attached to the kids they protect, but I don't think I can help it anymore."_

_"Good." I smiled and hugged him back. "Because we're attached to you too."_

_"Promise?" His eyes were wide and soft._

_I held out my little finger for him to shake. "I pinky-swear."_

_Jack telling me Jamie and I mean a lot to him was almost as good a birthday present as the magical pastels. His friendship makes me feel special._

"Oh..." Sophie winced. Her face contorted into a grimace. "The pain, Gwyneira."

"I'll get help." Gwyn dropped the diary on the bed and darted from the room. She returned with Marcia, the nurse.

"Not doing so well, Ms. Sophie?" Marcia said in her smooth, sweet voice. She inserted a vile of medicine into one of the tubes connected to Sophie. "This should help make things much better."

Gwyn watched the nurse work from the corner of the square room. Her mom closed her eyes and sunk back into the pillows. Marcia observed the monitors and jotted down notes on a clipboard. When she finished, she approached Gwyn and put a hand on her shoulder. "It shouldn't be long now," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "Has everyone said their good-byes?"

"No." Gwyn shook her head. "My brother's flight was delayed in Denver. He's trying to drive through the storm."

Marcia gave Gwyn's shoulder a light squeeze. "My abuelo died in this nursing home a year ago, but not before he waited twelve hours for my papa to fly in from Miami. Just wouldn't go without him."

"Thanks Marcia." Gwyn sighed as she observed her mom from afar. The comforters seemed to devour Sophie. Her long, white hair and white skin blended in with the white bedsheets. She looked like a ghost already.

"She seems like a sweet woman," Marcia replied as she walked back into the hall. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Gwyn nodded as the nurse eased the door shut. Standing alone in the cold room, Gwyn began to notice how weary she felt. She hadn't slept since her flight across the Pacific. Her eyelids felt heavy and the muscles in her lower back ached from sitting up too long. However, while her body urged her to take a nap, her subconscious yearned to read the diary.

Gwyn picked the book up off the bed. She resisted the temptation to flip to the end, and instead, opened to the next entry. It was short, only two pages, from the twenty-first of December 2019. She licked her lips, ready to begin reading, but before she could utter a word, her mom cut her off.

"The villagers searched the pond for a body, but they never found one." Sophie stared vacantly at the ceiling and spoke in a monotonous tone. "They marked an empty grave in the cemetery to honor him, because he died a hero."

"Who died a hero, Mom?" Gwyn pressed and set the diary down in her lap. "You're speaking nonsense."

Her mom continued as if she hadn't heard Gwyn. "Over the years, his sister periodically thought she saw her brother's ghost out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked his way, the spirit vanished."

"Who's spirit?" Gwyn grunted more edgily than she intended. "Where did you hear this story?"

Sophie slowly tilted her head to face Gwyn. Her glossy gaze flicked from her daughter's youthful face to the open diary in her lap. A knowing smile stretched across the old woman's lips.

"Jack Frost?" Gwyn realized what her mom could not say. "Are you saying Jack Frost told you this story?"

Tears welled in Sophie's tired eyes. "It's _his_ story," she replied in a horse whisper.

"That doesn't make sense," Gwyn painstakingly reasoned. "Are you saying this Jack Frost, who's in all these stories." She shook the diary. "This teenager who gives you gifts, takes you sledding, and digs you out of avalanches, is some sort of ghost?"

"Not a ghost." The old woman pointed weakly at the leather book as if to say, 'dig deeper.'

Gwyn felt the wheels in her brain slowly turning. She thought about the last entry. According to her mom, Jack Frost could speak, hear, smell, and taste things. Sophie spoke about him like he was a solid entity, rather than intangible like a ghost. Then, Gwyn remembered something Jack said in the last entry that even confused little Sophie.

"You wrote that he was resurrected." Gwyn thought carefully about each word as she spoke. "He was born twice? How's that possible?"

"The last thing he saw was his sister's distraught face," Sophie slowly unveiled. "The last thing he heard was her crying his name in agony. Freezing water rushed over him. Fear ensnared his senses. It was dark and cold. He was alone and scared... and then he saw the moon."

"The moon?" Gwyn cut her off. "What does the moon have to do with Jack Frost or being resurrected?"

"It was so big and so bright," Sophie continued to mumble. "It seemed to drive the darkness and fear away. The moon raised him from the ice. He took a breath of winter air, his feet touched down on the frozen water, and he wasn't scared anymore. Why he was there, and what he was meant to do, he didn't know. All he knew was his name—"

"Jack Frost." Gwyn's lips curled into a deep frown. _It doesn't make sense..._ She leaned back in her plastic, green chair, brow furrowed in skepticism, and wondered if her mom made the whole 'Jack Frost origin' story up herself. _Perhaps Uncle Jamie was involved,_ Gwyn thought. Her uncle was, after-all, a famous children's book author.

Gwyn glanced down at the diary open on her lap. A drawing on the left page of Sophie, flanked by Jack Frost and her Uncle Jaimie, accompanied the short entry on the right.

_December 21, 2019_

_Dear Diary,_

_Today we celebrated Jack's birthday, just like I promised him. We hosted the biggest snow-ball fight in the history of the world, and I lost a tooth in it, so I have to go to sleep soon. Jack was so happy because so many kids showed up. Over one-hundred! Some even from the neighboring town... and every single one of them believed!_

_Oh, In school we learned about rhyming and poetry. I really like the way the words in a poem sound like a song when you read them right, so I wrote a poem for Jack and read it to him when I gave him the picture I drew._

_This is what it said..._

It's the first day of winter, time to play  
With the neighborhood kids on Jack Frost day.

Since he brings us snow-days and sledding and fun,  
We used this special day to give him a hug

And tell him that we believe. That's all he wants to hear  
so he doesn't become invisible again— his greatest fear.

But that won't ever happen. Jamie and I will see to it  
that the Legend of Jack spreads. All you gotta do is prove it...

To your heart.

_Then I signed it with..._

_Happy three-hundred-eighth birthday. Love, Sophie._

_He liked it so much, he gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I laughed because it prickled. Anyway, got to go to sleep so the Tooth Fairy doesn't pass me over!_

_Sophie_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for someone to beta read this story for spelling and grammar errors. I parse through all my writing as thoroughly as I can, but an extra pair of eyes can always catch things I can't. If interested, PM me. To all my readers, if you see an error that's glaring, please do not hesitate to point it out. I know it will never be perfect, but I still strive for my stories to be 100% clean.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwyn needed caffeine and a break. It was near midnight, but she couldn't sleep. The diary had her head spinning a mile a minute. Quietly, Gwyn meandered the cold, empty halls to the cafeteria, but the late-night staff had been sent home due to the storm.

"Perfect..." Gwyn huffed and waltzed over to the coffee dispenser. She pulled the lever, with a flicker of hope, but nothing came out.

It was dark and quiet. A street lamp outside cast an orange glow through the plexiglass windows. While the wind had relaxed, thick, wet snowflakes still tumbled from the sky at a steady pace. A foot of snow had already accumulated. Gwyn quietly slipped into a booth beside the window and watched it fall. She loved how silent and peaceful the world seemed when it snowed. It reminded her of the Alps, the Himalayas, and the Andes— the mysterious, isolated, and deadly places she loved.

Gwyn pulled her jacket hood over her head and leaned against the window. She felt the phone in her pocket press against the wall. Lazily, Gwyn pulled it out and browsed through the contacts. She only had a handful: her mom, her brothers, the editors of magazines she photographed for, a few friends from school and skating, and her uncle.

She paused on her uncle's name.

Jamie Bennett lived in Burgess all his life— two days shy of ninety years. He was a famous children's book author; his stories had been published in dozens of languages and won numerous awards. Bunnymund the Easter Bunny lived in a mysterious warren beneath the Australian outback and Nicholas St. North commanded an army of Yetis at the North Pole... he uncle never wrote anything about Jack Frost though.

 _We'll never stop believing,_ Gwyn remembered reading in the diary, _and my children, and my children's children, and their children forever and ever. They will always believe in Jack Frost!_

Gwyn wondered what happened that made Sophie forget her promise. Growing up, Gwyn believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy like all normal kids— but not Jack Frost.

Gwyn's finger hovered over the red call button. Would her uncle understand her questions? Would he think her insensitive for worrying about Jack Frost given the circumstances?

 _He must know something..._ Gwyn decided. _He'll understand._ She felt comfortable around her uncle. They remained close even when the rest of her world fell apart. Gwyn imagined him sitting alone in the Denver airport and pressed the call button. The phone rung three times before she heard her uncle's friendly voice.

"Hello, Jamie Bennett speaking."

"U-uncle Jamie?" Gwyn stuttered. "It's Gwyn, your niece."

"Well of course it's Gwyn, my niece," he chuckled. "I don't know any other Gwyns. How are you, Snowflake?"

"Snowflake..." Gwyn laughed at her uncle's use of his old nickname for her. "I'm fifty years old, Uncle Jaimie. Don't you think it's time to retire that name?"

"Fifty," he answered in feigned disbelief. "No, I could have sworn you were fifteen."

Normally, Gwyn took offense to such a statement, but she knew her uncle meant no harm. "Uncle Jaimie," she replied in a mocking tone. "I don't know how many fifteen year-olds appreciate being called Snowflake either."

"Well, I'm old," he jested, "and I think I can call my niece whatever I want. Especially since I haven't heard from her in what— three years? Five?"

"I called you on your eighty-eighth birthday." Gwyn replied with certainty, "from Mongolia."

"Ah, Mongolia, yes. I remember... what were you doing in Mongolia again?"

Gwyn fidgeted in the booth. "I had some contract work with an Asian travel agency— just landscapes and stuff." Clumsily, she switched subjects. "But I'm more concerned about you, Uncle. Jackie told me you decided to wait in Denver until the storm cleared."

"I wasn't too keen on driving through the mess," he tutted. "The airline put me in a hotel across the street. We're scheduled for an eight a.m. departure now."

"I'm sorry I called then," Gwyn guiltily interjected. "You should be getting some sleep."

"Nonsense, Snowflake," her uncle replied stubbornly. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Gwyn laughed. Jamie Bennett never took anything seriously. "Listen, Uncle Jamie," she switched to a more serious tone. "I umm... I actually called because I have a peculiar question to ask. If you have time that is?"

"Well, you're in luck, Snowflake," he chuckled. "It just so happens, I have an extra supply of time on my hands. Ask away."

"Good." A smile crept onto Gwyn's face. She pulled her knees up to her chest and snuggled deeper into the corner of the booth. "I wanted to ask you about your books," she stated in a hushed tone. "Your stories about Nicholas St. North, E. Aster Bunnymund, Toothiana, and the Sandman— what inspired you to write them?"

"Well, you didn't have to call to ask me that." Her uncle sounded surprised. "I'm sure I've answered that question in every interview I've given over the last seventy years."

"Please, Uncle Jaimie," Gwyn stressed. "Could you tell me again?"

"Well, sure... I drew my inspiration mostly from my childhood. I was rather adventurous in my hay-day," he added with a sly laugh.

Gwyn bit her lip. "But they weren't real adventures— were they, Uncle? You were just pretending."

"Well..." Jamie said in a matter-of-fact tone. "What's the difference between a real adventure and an imaginary one? As long as the story's real enough to one person, what else matters?"

 _A typical Jamie Bennett answer,_ Gwyn thought. Her uncle always spoke in riddles. "Well..." Gwyn thought carefully about her choice of words. "What about Jack Frost? Why didn't you write a book about him?"

A long pause followed. Gwyn opened her mouth to rephrase the question, but Jamie cut her off with a forced laugh.

"I didn't write about Cupid or the groundhog either, Snowflake. Why so interested in Jack Frost?"

"Mom's making me read this old diary of hers." The words spilled from her lips. "It's filled with crazy stories about Jack Frost, but they sound so real. It's almost like she, and you, actually believed this Jack was really— was really— he can't be real. Can he?"

Again, silence followed. Gwyn felt like she was walking on thin ice.

Finally, her uncle sighed. "I did write a book about Jack. The manuscript is still sitting in my desk drawer at home along with a dozen beautiful illustrations your mother did for it."

Gwyn's heart raced. Images of the paintings she saw in the old Burgess home flashed before her eyes. "Why didn't you publish it then?"

"Because your mother asked me not to."

Her uncle sounded uneasy, but Gwyn continued to press. "Why would she do a thing like that?"

"I'm afraid, Snowflake," he replied sadly. "It's not my place to speak for your mother on this matter."

"But she won't tell me anything!" Frustration flared in Gwyn's tone. "She just wants me to keep reading her stupid diary."

"Perhaps she's trying to give you the whole story—"

"Whose story though?" Gwyn cut him off. "Her story? Mine? or this Jack Frost guy's? She's hidden the truth from me for fifty years, and you're helping her keep it!"

"It's not my story to tell, Snowflake," he deflected, unfazed by Gwyn's outburst. "I would tell you everything if I could."

Gwyn huffed. She _supposed_ he had a point. She picked up on a genuinely remorseful streak in her uncle's tone and felt guilty for raising her voice. "You shouldn't apologize for her, Uncle Jamie," Gwyn said as she exhaled. "You didn't do anything."

"Sometimes," he whispered. "Not doing anything is the worst mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when Jackie was born?" Her uncle explained tactfully, "and I made you promise to be a good sister and protect him no matter what?"

"Of course I remember." Gwyn shrugged. "I did nothing you wouldn't have."

"You did nothing I didn't _try_ to," he corrected. "Sophie was a stubborn girl, though. I couldn't always protect her from herself."

Gwyn felt something cold run through her. Without thinking, an insinuation tumbled from her lips. "It was Jack Frost wasn't it? He hurt mom, somehow, or she hurt him? He's more than imaginary—"

"Jack was my best friend." Jamie cut her off, "but that doesn't mean I supported every decision he made. I suggest you keep reading the diary, Gwyn. I promise we can discuss it when I get there."

"But I can't wait!" Gwyn cried. "Not anymore. What if there's not enough time?"

"There will be," her uncle assured. "As I said, Sophie is a stubborn girl."

Gwyn felt like she was standing at the edge of a precipice, teetering so close to the truth. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words formed. Finally, with a sigh, she conceded, "I've waited this long, I suppose. Only—"

"Yes, Snowflake?"

Gwyn inhaled deeply. "Jack Frost... he— is he real? And please don't give me any more of this perspective talk. Is he a real living, breathing, _existing_ being like the one Mom describes in her diary?"

Jamie paused to consider his answer, then responded in a collected voice. "Even though your mother hasn't been up front with you, she's never out right lied to you."

Gwyn's heart leapt into her throat. "So he is real?"

"As long as you believe." Her uncle whispered reverently.

"Believe?" The word sounded like a curse. "Since when has my mom given me any reason to believe a word she says?"

"She hasn't," Jamie frankly replied. "That's why taking the leap of faith is so hard..."

A war waged in Gwyn's mind. She wanted so badly to believe her mom and uncle. To believe this Jack Frost existed— but the story was just too bizarre! The load of crap her mom spewed about the moon resurrecting some kid nearly four hundred years ago to become the spirit of winter? It defied logic!

 _Just like I defy logic..._ a voice in Gwyn's subconscious whispered. She choked back a gasp. An outlandish thought crossed her mind. It made Gwyn feel so uncomfortable, her stomach turned uneasily, and she shuttered.

"Gwyn?" Her uncle's voice broke her trail of thought. "Gwyn, are you still there?"

"Sorry, Uncle Jamie." Her mouth felt suddenly dry. "I was just thinking..."

On that note, she bade her uncle a good night and left the darkened cafeteria. Gwyn didn't trust herself to be left alone with the thoughts running wild in her head. No matter how hard it seemed, she had to put her faith in her mom's promise that the diary would answer her questions.

Sophie hardly flinched when her daughter re-entered the room. "You were gone... a while." She breathed heavily.

"I went to get coffee." Gwyn swallowed. "But the cafeteria was closed, so I just sat there for a while." She realized she was rambling and added, "I was just thinking." Gwyn slipped her hands in her pockets and looked down at the floor. She decided not to tell Sophie about her conversation with Uncle Jamie.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Without being asked, Gwyn shuffled over to the bedside table and picked up the diary. "I'm just going to keep reading then..." She muttered.

Sophie, eyes closed, nodded in respond. Gwyn caught the hint of a smile on her mother's face, and sunk onto the floor.

The tile was cool and comfortable. Gwyn shifted up against the baseboard of the bed, and felt her hand graze over something wedged underneath. It was the old picture that slide out of the diary— the one of her mom skating on a frozen pond. Gwyn held the fading photograph inches away from her nose and studied it. Her mom slide across the ice in a graceful arabesque, one arm extended forward and one arm back, but instead of facing forward, Sophie glanced upward and over her shoulder like she was meeting someone's gaze—

"Skip a few entries, sweetheart," Sophie croaked.

"Oh, Okay..." Gwyn blinked. She shook her head to clear it, leaned back against the bed, and cast the photo one last glance before setting it down. Casually, Gwyn flipped through pages filled mostly with drawings and short dabbles. "How about February 3rd, 2021? You would have been twelve."

"Very good," her mom wheezed.

Gwyn shifted into a comfortable position and opened the book across her knees. With a deep inhale, she licked her lips and continued reading...

_Dear Diary,_

_I camped out by the pond last night with Jack and Jamie. My brother will start college next fall, so this is his last full winter at home. I'll miss him very much when he's gone, sort of like how I miss Jack when he leaves in the summer._

_The three of us like camping together, because out in the woods, there's no one to judge Jamie and me for our faith in the guardians. Every year more children my age stop believing. I have to watch how I act around them now so they don't think I'm weird. It hurts when I see Jack and can't wave to him or run up and give him a hug. I'm sure it hurts him too. Out in the woods though, we can laugh and tell stories and play games like we used to. That's why I like camping so much. I don't even care if its cold._

_There wasn't any snow on the ground yesterday, which was good for the tent. Jamie set it up while Jack and I collected wood for our campfire. As the sun went down, we roasted hotdogs and made s'mores. Then Jack told us stories about the winters before Jamie and I were born. Some were funny stories, like the Easter blizzard of 1968, and some were sad, like the Civil War winter of 1864. Even though I know Jack is over three-hundred years old, it still feels weird to hear him talk of things I read about in my history books._

_We stayed up until well past midnight, but eventually Jamie started to doze off, so we snuggled into the tent beside the space heater. Jack wasn't tired though, so he stayed outside. I don't think he sleeps very much anyway._

_The forest was quite and still. The heater made a purring noise at my feet. I heard an owl hoot and the sound of wind rustling the tree branches together. I couldn't sleep very well because I was too busy thinking about things— about Jamie leaving, about the guardians, about Jack. I dosed in and out of consciousness, but never really fell asleep. Then, after a while, a clattering sound woke me. It was coming from on top of the tent!_

_Quick as a jackrabbit, I bolted to my feet, grabbed my flashlight, and jabbed at the canopy. A shrill, "ouch!" echoed through the forest, followed by a loud "thump!" After I whipped on my coat and boots, I darted from the tent, and clicked my flashlight on—_

_"Jack!" I screamed. "What were you doing on top of the tent?"_

_The winter spirit looked up at me like a deer caught in the headlights. "I-I thought you were asleep," he stuttered._

_"I was." I lied, "but your racket woke me up."_

_He hung his head and muttered. "Sorry, Soph..."_

_I tried to keep a straight face and glared at him, but Jack's guilty look was too funny. "You don't have to apologize." I broke into a laugh. "I'm usually heavy sleeper anyway. Still, what were you doing on top of the tent?"_

_"I was just star gazing," Jack said as he stood and brushed dirt off his hoodie. "They're really bright tonight... and the moon too."_

_I looked up to see for myself. Thousands of glittering, white lights spotted the black sky like fireflies. "They are," I whispered. "Sorry I scared you."_

_"You didn't scare me," Jack brushed my comment aside. "I'm a guardian. I don't get scared."_

_"Sure..." I playfully rolled my eyes. Since I hadn't been sleeping anyway, I decided to stay awake and star-gaze with Jack. I pulled a tarp from the tent to set my sleeping bag on, threw some feet warmers into the bottom of the sack, and snuggled inside. Jack lay down on the tarp beside me, but he didn't need any blankets._

_Since neither of us knew how to find constellations, we took turns pointing out stars we thought looked cool and talking about the planets that might orbit them. I saw a bright, pinkish star that reminded me of an easter egg, so I named it 'Bunny.' Jack made a funny face and said the planets circling it were probably the most annoying ones in the whole universe._

_I laughed and burrowed deeper into my warm sleeping bag. I felt so comfortable in that moment, the only thing making me a little sad was knowing it would end. "I hate how nothing lasts," I said with a sigh, "not even the good stuff."_

_"Some things last," Jack replied. His nose scrunched up as he thought. "The stars do... and the moon. I've seen a lot of things change, but they're still the same."_

_"But what about childhood?" I pressed, "and fun times? and snow?"_

_"No." He tilted his head to the side. "They don't last, but you wouldn't want them to. When things last too long, we start taking them for granted."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Jack shrugged and folded his arms behind his head. "Well, like me for instance. Before I became a guardian, I was just sort of existing in the world without living in it. When things drag on endlessly, without a purpose, you just... I don't know, lose touch with the things that make life beautiful. Usually those are the things that don't last forever— like laughs and hugs, like childhood, and snow days."_

_I understood what he was saying, but I still felt hollow. "I just feel like kids are growing up too fast," I said as I exhaled. "They think it's so cool to be grown up and stop believing."_

_"You may be right," Jack replied. "The world around kids is different now. A lot faster."_

_"Too fast!" I growled. "I can only imagine how different everything looks now compared to three-hundred years ago. Sometimes I forget how old you are."_

_"Sometimes I do too..."_

_A moment of silence passed. I shifted onto my stomach and looked at Jack. The questions I wanted to ask him came flooding back into my brain. I took a deep breath. "Can I ask something without you laughing at me?"_

_His eyes lit up. "You can ask me anything Soph. Only I can't promise I won't laugh. Especially if your questions are anything like your brother's."_

_Perfect segue. "What_ does _Jamie ask you?"_

_"Usually random stuff," he chuckled. "Like why do I always wear the same clothes? Or how long can I stand upside down for? Or what's my temperature on a thermometer?"_

_"Well..." I blurted. "I want to know those things too."_

_He smiled. "I don't change clothes mostly cause I like what I have on. Also, since I don't have money and can't be seen, I'd have to steal stuff, and I don't want to do that. I can stand upside down long enough that I get bored before I get dizzy, and I don't know what my temperature is. We couldn't find a thermometer."_

_I made a mental note to look for one later._

_"So, Soph," Jack pressed. "What did you want to ask?" He nudged me with his elbow._

_My cheeks flushed red and I bit my bottom lip. "I just wanted to know... I don't really care either way but... if you died when you became Jack Frost, does that make you like a ghost or something?"_

_His brow raised, but I was happy to note he didn't seem at all offended._

_"Ha! You know, I wondered that myself once." Slowly he explained, "I didn't know anything but my name when I woke up as Jack Frost. Then, I had a lot of time in three-hundred years to think about things like what I am and why I'm here... but I ruled out a ghost pretty early on."_

_I squinted. "Why's that?"_

_"Because..." he pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Oh!" Like a lightbulb clicking on in his brain, his frown switched back into a smile. Jack grabbed my hand, and I toppled over as he placed it on his chest. "Feel that?"_

_"Hey!" I scoffed and made a face. His touch sent a shiver down my spine. "Feel what?" His hoodie was soft, very worn. His chest rose and sank as he breathed in and out, and then... I felt it—_

_A thump. Once, and then again. I felt the steady beat, beating of a heart in the place where all normal hearts were._

_"You have a heartbeat, Jack." I said, astounded._

_"I know, right?" The thought seemed to amaze him even now. "That's how I know I'm not dead."_

_I pulled my sleeping bag tight and scooted closer to him like an inchworm. "I like that you have a heartbeat."_

_"You do?" He tilted his head to the side. "Why?"_

_"Because..." I paused to sort my thoughts out. Though I've never doubted my belief in Jack's existence, I never considered him normal either. After all, he is a guardian. He has super powers, and he's smart and funny and cute and... pretty much perfect. Finally, I replied with a question. "Can I see your hand?"_

_"Sure." Jack propped himself up on his elbows._

_I took his hand in mine. His fingers were cold, but not too bad. They just tickled a bit. The back of his hand had little veins running through it, and I felt his bones through his smooth skin. Casually, I flipped it over to look at his palm. There were three lines in it, just like mine. "You're so normal." I observed. "I just don't get how some people can't see you."_

_"Well..." he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "There is the whole 'guardian' thing."_

_"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess the believing part goes with the territory."_

_Something in the way he looked at me made my insides feel squirmy. I liked spending time with Jack, just the two of us. Usually I had to share him with Jamie. "You're not going to forget about me when Jamie goes to college, are you?" I asked and tugged at the edges of my sleeping bag. "I know he was your first believer, but—"_

_"Soph," He cut me off. "I'll be here as long as you want me to." Jack lay on his side and looked directly at me as he spoke. "Besides, Jamie wasn't really my first believer— you were."_

_I kept my eyes fixed on his face, looking for a sign he was joking."What?"_

_"Let's just keep this between you and me." Jack lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think it would hurt his feelings if he knew."_

_"Knew what?" My eyes grew wide, not believing what I was hearing._

_"The night Pitch attacked," he tracked back in his memory. "You accidentally transported yourself to the Warren using one of North's snow-globes, and we were having so much fun, I forgot that you couldn't see me... or I thought so at least. When it was time to take you home, I volunteered, and to everyone's surprise I could pick you up!"_

_"And you wouldn't have been able to if I didn't believe," I squeaked excitedly._

_"Exactly!"_

_My heart pounded in my chest. All this time I thought Jamie was Jack's first believer, but he wasn't. It was me! I tried to tell myself it didn't matter who believed first— only that we both still did. But for some reason, I couldn't mask my happiness. I felt proud. I felt... closer to Jack somehow. "I wish I could remember..." my voice trailed._

_Jack looked at me. "You don't need to remember, Soph. Tooth told me that the most important memories from childhood aren't just stored in teeth. They're also kept right— here!" He poked above my heart and I giggled._

_"I'm glad you're here, Jack." I blushed and buried my head in his chest. "You're like my brother that won't ever grow up and go to college and leave me. We'll always be friends."_

_He gently placed a hand on my head and stroked my hair. "Always. I promise."_

_I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, because when I opened my eyes, pale morning light seeped through the trees and glistened off the frost-coated pine needles on the forest floor. Jack was still beside me on the tarp, sound asleep._

_I decided then that it didn't matter whether I was Jack's first believer or his one-hundredth and first. Believing in the guardians made me special, and no matter what the other kids at school said— that would always be a good thing._

_Sophie_

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially this is a RotG story with a "Benjamin Button" inspired structure. It's much shorter than what I'm used to writing. I have this story penned for 15-20 chapters all between 2,000-4,000 words each. It's not an epic or anything. Just a romantic drama that an enormously irritating plot bunny, an overzealous imagination, and a fantastic film, forced me to write.
> 
> Since this is the first chapter, I would really appreciate reviews that focus on characterization the story's premise. Do you find Gwyn believable, annoying, sympathetic/ not sympathetic; does little Sophie seem in character; how about Jack? Most importantly, did this chapter establish enough to keep you interested and/ or wanting to know more? All advise is good advise, because it's the only way I can grow as a writer.


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